


The One Time Dean Shared His Pie

by Tabz



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabz/pseuds/Tabz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are on crime holiday in South Dakota. Little did they know what kind of crime they stumbled upon when they meet the Winchesters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Time Dean Shared His Pie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deeniebee28](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deeniebee28/gifts).



The door to the cafe creaked open. Light shone into the dark room in bright shafts. The light hit the hitherto invisible dust particles that tornadoed through the air and made them visible. Other than the far left-corner table, the room was empty. If restaurants were people, this cafe would have been the old country farmer's wife who hadn't been to town in about twenty years.

The occupied table held a very illustrious set of people, though you wouldn't have known it to look at them. It was a trio of men: Sam and Dean Winchester and the angel, Castiel. From their vantage point they could see the front door (it should probably also be pointed out that they could see every door in the place, it was kind of their custom to find the best vantage point before sitting down). So, it was no surprise that they saw the two men who entered the Old Dinner. Well, to be honest, they heard them first. It was kind of hard not to hear the two very loud, very British voices that approached the cafe.

"And you need to stop sulking."

"I am NOT sulking," came the deeper voice.

"You are sulking and it's ridiculous. it was your grand idea to come to America. What was it you told me. Oh right. Case of a lifetime."

"It is."

"Then stop sulking."

There was an exasperated sigh. "I am not sulking."

"We are going to go into this cafe. We are going to eat. Then we're going back to the scene of the crime and you can have a revelation or whatever it is you do."

"12 bodies, John," said the deeper voice. "12 bodies and then the killer or killers just stopped."

Dean gave a significant glance at Sam and Castiel. Cas just kept eating his french fries.

"Maybe he was hungry," said the voice they now knew was John.

The door creaked on it's hinges and in walked a tall, dark haired man in a long coat with the collar turned up. Dean wasn't an expert in such things, but the man did appear to be sulking. Behind him was a shorter, fair-haired man with a kind face. There was something about him though that Dean recognized. A look in his eye that told Dean that John was a solider and could easily stab you through the heart as he could hold the door open for you.

The two found table. The taller man leaned over the table at John sand said, "don't you find it very suspicious that the FBI was immediately involved?"

"That's their job, Sherlock. You called and verified them."

"Yes, but no American police force is that efficient. Also, I did a reverse director search on that number and it was a cell phone."

"So their supervisor had a cellphone," John said dismissively as he picked up a menu. "What looks good?"

"Not. Eating."

"Eat something, Sherlock. It's been days. American food isn't that bad. You rather fancied that cherry pie we had back in... what was it? O'Hare?"

The pair continued to argue and Dean and Sam gave each other, _what the hell_ looks. The trio had just killed a nest of vampires that had been terrifying the town. From the sound of the taller man's arguments - he was investigating the same case. Dean slowly chewed on the last bit of his cheeseburger and considered them. They obviously were British, they were on cases, but they didn't seem to be hunters. Some kind of Scotland Yard officers? Seemed unlikely that some killings in North Dakota would warrant anything official.

John ordered when the tired, elderly waitress came by. As soon as she disappeared again into the swinging doors of the kitchen, they started discussing the details of the case.

"Look, Sherlock, it's only been two days since the last victim. Maybe the killer is taking a break."

"One victim every night for nearly a fortnight. Then? Nothing. Right after the FBI agents come into town. Then, nothing and the agents are gone. Something tells me that the killer isn't going to be bothering this town again."

"Well if the FBI solved it, then why don't the local police know?"

"Exactly." Sherlock paused and looked around the room. His eyes stopped on Sam, Dean and Cas. "Exactly," Sherlock said in a quieter voice.

"Hullo," John said after following Sherlock's gaze. He smiled apologetically. "Don't mind him, he's special."

Sherlock tossed John a look of approbation.

"Not from around here, are you?" Dean smiled a crooked half-grin.

"No, from London actually. On holiday. My name is John, this is my friend Sherlock."

"Pleased to meet you both. I'm Dean, this is my brother Sam and that's Cas," Dean replied as he indicated to Sam and Cas with his beer bottle.

"You aren't from around here either," Sherlock said.

"Come again?"

"Your license plates on the Impala. Kansas," Sherlock said. "Also, he's not from around these parts at all." Sherlock pointed at Cas. "No wallet, no cell phone. It's almost like he's from another era."

Dean chuckled dryly. "That's what I keep telling him."

The waitress brought John a cheeseburger, fries and a beer bottle and a slice of pie for Sherlock. Both groups lapsed into silence as John ate. Dean dug into his jeans pocket for some casha nd dropped it on the table and rose to leave.

"Have a good time," Sam said weakly as they walked out of the cafe. John smiled in response.

As soon as they had reached the Impala Dean said, "Who were those guys?"

"Scotland Yard?" Sam suggested.

"Sherlock Holmes," Cas said from the back seat.

"What?" Sam and Dean said simultaneously as they turned to look back at Cas.

"While you were conversing with them I popped out and checked online. He's a very famous private investigator."

"You zapped out?" Sam said. "I didn't even see you leave."

Cas looked slightly confused. "That was the point."

"Well, great. A PI all the way from London and he has our number. Just great."

"Look, I say we just head out to our next case," Sam said. "Not like he can find us once we're gone."

"We don't know if we got the whole nest though." Dean grimaced. "There were beds for 10 and we only killed 9. We can't leave just yet. We'll just have to be smart."

"Good. Smart is good," Cas smiled. "Because apparently this Sherlock Holmes is very clever."

Sam looked at Dean and pushed back his hair. "Just great," he said, echoing his brother.

* * *

The trio headed to a different motel than the one they had been staying at. Cas zapped off to answer some call of angel, but the brothers didn't mind much. They showered and fell into bed exhausted from their fruitless search for the final vampire's whereabouts.

The next morning, Sam shook Dean awake. "Dean. Dean. DEAN."

A snort and grumble were the only replies Sam got in response. "There's been another murder."

Dean blinked. Sam threw his pillow at him. "Wake up, we've got to get there before the great Mr. Holmes does."

Within minutes the brothers were out the door and in the car. They drove to the address that Sam had picked up on the police scanner. Deciding to be cautious they parked about two blocks away and walked up towards the scene. They scoped out the area. There was no sign of Sherlock or John. Walking up to the yellow police tape, Sam and Dean flipped open their badges. "Dave Mustaine, this is James Hetfield," Dean said to the nearby sheriff. The Sheriff let them under the tape and to the dead body. It was a pretty red-haired girl with her throat ripped out. Dean gave Sam a pointed look.

"Time of death?" Dean asked the lady M.E. who was bending over the body on the ground.

"Between 12 and 12.30."

"That's pretty precise," Sam commented.

"She had called 911 about midnight, said someone had been following her and she was scared. The call got cut off. By the time the police arrived to check it out at 12:30, she was already dead."

Sam nodded and squatted nearby to get a better look at the victim.

"I am Sherlock Holmes, this is my partner Dr. John H. Watson,” the deep, rich voice came from about 10 yards away. Sam and Dean gave each other a look. Before they could disappear though the British detective and his partner had joined them.

“Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson,” Dean said as he stuck out a hand. “It’s good of you to join us in this investigation.” He kept his voice light and hopefully disguised. Don’t make a scene, Dean thought.

Sherlock’s eyebrows went up vaguely, but he said nothing. “Good to be of service, what happened?”

John knelt on the ground across from Sam and started looking at the body as well. The four of them discussed the case in short, brief Q&A’s.

“Who is the dead woman?” Sherlock asked.

“Ms. Janet Lundiski,” the sheriff replied. If he was surprised by Sherlock and John joining the crime scene, he didn’t show it. “She’s a single lady, works at the Miller’s Hotel at the front desk.”

The rest of the details were pretty standard. The M.E. said he’d have more results later after he had done an autopsy. Sherlock took out a small magnifying glass and examined the body before they took it away. “We should talk to Janet’s co-workers. I’m assuming she was leaving work with the state of her shoes,” Sherlock said as they watched the stretcher make it’s somber trek to the ambulance.

“Her shoes?” John said as he brushed off the dirt from his pants.

“Oh I get it,” Dean said with a sideways grin. “She was a hot young thing, but wearing really sensible shoes. You only do that for work.”

Sherlock looked annoyed and impressed all at the same time. “A wound like that, she would have lost a lot of blood, but where is it?”

“Maybe she was killed elsewhere?” John said as he searched the ground.

Sherlock moved around the body quickly, almost like a bloodhound searching for a scent. “No, she was killed her. The tracks and the ground tell us that much. There was a struggle. Looks like she put up a fight.”

Dean gave one of his devilish smirks. “Maybe the killer took all the blood away with him.”

Sherlock’s forehead crinkled. “A trophy? From that wound? How?”  
“You’re the genius,” Dean said placidly. “You figure it out.”

Sherlock started to retort, but Sam stepped up and tried to defuse the situation, “Do you want to join us for the interviews? The sheriff is probably going to be calling people in.”

There was a brief nod from Sherlock and the four of them headed towards their cars. Once they were out of earshot of the sheriff Sherlock walked close to Sam and Dean. “Why the ruse?”

Dean gave his best, I don’t know what you mean look. “Ruse?”

“Come, come. We all know you’re not FBI agents. I doubt you’re gainfully employed at all judging by the state of those shoes.”

John breathed out his nose. “I’m sorry, he’s quite rude before he’s solved a case.”

“Look, Sherlock. I like you. And that’s rare. So just trust us that we’re on the same side. Trying to find the killer or killers.” Dean opened the door of his Impala. “You coming or what?”

Sherlock and John looked at each other. John tilted his head and shrugged. “If they are involved, it’s better to be with them don’t you think?”

Sherlock signed and sunk into his coat and climbed into the back of the Impala. Rock music blasted on as soon as Dean started up the car and the four headed to the sheriff’s office.

* * *

 John and Sam held most of the conversation as they traveled to the office. The pair talked about the case mostly. They discussed the murders and how brutal they had been, John remarked on the victims all being young and single. Sam agreed that seemed to be the type.John also remarked about the lack of blood at each scene, which Sam seemed to brush off to the cold weather. John gave Sam a aren’t you cute look. Dean kept his eyes primarily on the road, but kept glancing back in the rearview mirror at Sherlock as he was staring out the window.

After they parked, Sherlock grabbed John’s arm. “There’s something not right about all this,” he told John in a low voice.

John shifted as he thought. “There’s always something not right about serial killers.”

“No, something…” Sherlock waved his hand as if trying to summon the word. “Just odd. Keep your guard up.”

John nodded grimly and set out after the Winchesters. Sherlock took a moment to study the sky line. The bleak mid-winter sky was filled with black birds that seemed to settle along every spare inch of fence or phone line. They gave a few lonesome cries and then flew back up into the air without much preamble.

Sherlock turned up his coat collar and walked into the sheriff’s office.

* * *

 The interviews went as normally as expected. Janet’s friends and co-workers described her in glowing terms and had no idea who would want to hurt her. She had been single for as long as any of them had known, but recently had been talking about a nice man in town who had started showing interest. Dean and John took notes on his description, but there were few clues to go on as no one had ever seen him.

“He’d started walking her home at night,” Wendy said. She was the night security guard at the hotel. “I always worried about her walking home so late, but a week ago she told me Mr. Right started walking with her.”

“Mr. Right?” Dean said with a smile.

“Yeah, none of us knew her new guy’s name, so we just started calling him Mr. Right.”

The afternoon front desk attendant said that Mr. Right never showed up for the work parties. “He worked nights, like Janet I guess.”

The hotel manager said Janet had requested the night off the day that she had been murdered. He wasn’t sure why, but gossip was the two were going on a date. “Such a shame,” the manager said with a soft sigh. “She was a beautiful girl and a great employee.”

After the interviews were done, Sam and Dean looked at each other. “Well, apparently we need to find Mr. Right,” Sam said.

“It’d be helpful to have her computer or phone,” Sherlock said wryly. “A new love in her life, I doubt they didn’t make some kind of contact.”

“Well, her phone must be in evidence,” Dean said. “I’ll see if I can give it a look.”

About fifteen minutes later Dean returned. He shut the door and sat back down at the interview table. “Bad news, looks like our killer wiped her phone. It’s completely empty.”

Sherlock frowned. “What kind of phone?”

“An iPhone.”

“Maybe there’s some backup on the cloud. We’ll need to get to her computer.”

“First we’ve gotta make sure the sheriff knows about our interviews,” Sam said. “Then we can go to Janet’s.”

Night had fallen by the time they were able to break into Janet’s apartment. John hissed in a low whisper, “I thought we had permission.”

“We do,” Dean said with a shrug. “She’s dead. She doesn’t care. There’s our permission.” He clapped the doctor on his shoulder. “After you, Doc.”

John sighed. “No wonder he likes you,” he grumbled at Sherlock as he passed him.

Dean and Sam flicked on lights and started exploring the apartment. It was clean and well organized. Grabbing John’s wrist, Sherlock whispered low in his ear. “These men are not official.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that.”

“I think they’re vigilantes.”

“Vigilantes with a lot of skills,” John commented.

“Yeah, it’s odd. If I didn’t know any better I’d say they were serial killers themselves.”

“What?” John said a bit louder than he had intended. He lowered his voice. “What makes you say that?”

“Takes a sociopath to recognize another sociopath.”

“Found it!” Sam called from the bedroom. John gave Sherlock an uneasy look and they hurried to where the Winchesters were.

“Thankfully she saved all her passwords,” Sam said. “No hacking required.”

“She’s got a butterfly tattoo as her desktop?” Dean said with a low wolf whistle. “Sultry. Wouldn’t have minded knowing her better.”

Sam gave his brother _a please not in front of our guests_ look. He clicked a few things and then scrolled through the list of contacts. “There’s hardly anyone here, mostly the people we interviewed. Her parents.” He paused. “There’s two names I don’t recognize. Tom Meliford and Jack Grayston.” Sam tapped the screen as the others gathered closer. “Jack’s the only one with a local number though.”

“Got an address?” Dean asked.

“No, just the email address and his cell. I’ll check her email.”

Sherlock whipped out his phone and begin tapping. “Jack Grayston, Jack Grayston,” Sherlock mumbled to himself as his eyes scanned the screen. “Aha!” He said triumphantly. He held up his phone for the others. “Jack Grayston, recent employee at a night watch service. Oh I love when they put everything on the web.” He punched a couple more times on his phone screen. “Their client list is here. Looks like four big contracts, only two locations in Sioux Falls. Watson, the game is on!” And with that, Sherlock marched out of the room with Watson closely at his heels. Dean and Sam gave each other a significant look and hurried after the retreating pair.

* * *

“Well, the last place was a bust,” Dean said. “Guess this is the place.” The guys peered out the front windshield. The dark warehouse looked even more impressive and looming in the dark.

“Anything from Cas?” Sam said turning to Dean.

“Nope.” Dean said with a cough. “He, uh, won’t answer.”

  
“Then I guess we’d better go find Jack.” Sam looked at Dean and then in the rearview mirror. “Uh, you guys may want to stay here and call for backup if we need it.”

“Stay here?” Sherlock laughed. “We’re more than capable of handling one guy.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” Sam looked at Dean.

“You’re…” Dean fumbled.

“Guests.” Sam said, looking proud with himself.

“Yeah, guests. We can’t have an international incident.”

Sherlock was about to protest, but John put his hand on Sherlock’s chest. “You’re right, we’ll wait here.” As soon as the brothers had stepped out of the car, John turned to Sherlock, “if you’re right, it’s best we follow them and see what’s really going on.”

There was a loud fluttering sound and Cas appeared between the boys. “Cas!” Dean said grabbing the angel’s shoulder. “It’s a good thing the other guys can’t see you. You can’t just pop in.”

“But you called.”

“Oh never mind. Let’s gank this vampire and get done with this crazy buddy cop film.” Dean picked out a couple machetes and handed one to Sam.

“What are we going to tell the Brits?” Sam asked.

“That we couldn’t find him, then we get the **** out of Dodge.”

“But we’re in South Dakota,” Cas said, wrinkling his forehead.

“Cas, just.” Dean sighed. “Meet us inside.”

“As you wish.” Cas said and, in a blink of an eye, he had disappeared.

Sam held back a laugh.

“What’s so funny, Chuckles?” Dean said as he hid the machete in his jacket.

“Did Cas,” Sam laughed, but covered it with a cough. “Did Cas just say he loved you?”

“Har har, movie nerd. Let’s go.”

The warehouse was silent. The fall weather had left a scattering of fallen leaves and the boys moved through them quietly. “You think he’s here?” Sam said. “Didn’t know a vamp to hold down a job.”

“Oh he’s here. He’s probably pissed we ganked his brood. Be careful.”

The door to the warehouse was locked, but it didn’t take Dean long to break in. They stepped carefully into the darkness of the warehouse. Large wooden pallets and rows of shelving were everywhere. Sam and Dean snapped on flashlights and stepped through the door. “There’s no one here,” Castiel said suddenly behind them.

Sam and Dean both jerked in surprise. “Cas, you’ve gotta stop sneaking up on us,” Dean complained, turning to face the angel. The light from Dean’s flashlight brought out the sunken features of Castiel and made him appear even more ghoulish than normal.

“Well if he’s not here, then where is he?” Dean asked.

Castiel opened his mouth to talk, but suddenly there was a shout from outside. “SAM! DEAN!” The Winchesters looked at each other. “Cas! Go!” Dean barked and they ran back towards the direction of the car.

Once outside they could see Sherlock on the ground, a man on top of him. Watson was desperately trying to get at them as they tussled, but they kept rolling out of his reach. “Why didn’t you bring a gun!” Sherlock panted.

“I can’t bring a gun on an airplane, Sherlock! It’s a rule!”

“It’s a stupid rule.”

The fight intensified and, in a blink Castiel, with his angel blade drawn, was by the wrestling pair. They were moving too fast for Castiel. Castiel made a grab for the man on top of Sherlock, but he ducked quickly and rolled off Sherlock.

Sam and Dean ran up just in time to see the man’s face. His mouth was in a terrible grin with long pointed teeth. “Winchesters,” he spat. “You killed my family.”

“And we’re gonna kill you,” Dean said simply. “Jack is it?”

Castiel stepped forward, angel blade raised. The man laughed. “Yep, Jack. Good old security guard Jack.” He reached into his pocket.

“Castiel! Don’t!” Sherlock said, gasping as he caught his breath. “He’s got… a dead man’s switch.”

Castiel stepped back, a bit confused.

“That’s right, Mr. Detective.” Jack grinned proudly, showing off the bombs that encircled his chest. “If I’m going down, I’m going down with all of you.”

“You know that guy?” Dean said pointing his machete at Sherlock.

“Dean, not really the time.”

“I’m just… you know.. curious.”

“Who hasn’t heard of the great Mr. Sherlock Holmes?” Jack said with a sly grin. He ran his tongue along his teeth. “I could smell his blood a mile away.”

“His blood. Hold on a minute… how can you smell his blood?” John said scratching his head.

“Also, not important!” Sam said. “Look, Jack. We’re gonna leave you be for now. Just don’t let go of that trigger.”

Sherlock and John started easing back towards the car.

“Calculation?” John said, looking sideways at Sherlock.

“Too close,” Sherlock said. “Always too close.”

“Sam?” Dean asked.

“That much TNT? He’s got us Dean.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.”

“What do you want, Jack?” Dean said. “We can go peaceful like and you can live to suck another day.”

“I want revenge. I want to walk over your dead bodies. I want the great Sherlock Holmes to know the truth right before the light in his eyes goes out.”

“Greedy much?” Watson said with a wry half-smile.

“Guys,” Castiel said simply.

“Not now, Cas,” Dean said.

“Look, let’s just call this a draw,” Sam said as he looked around. There was nothing in the nearby area he could think of.

“You’d like that, the Winchesters live to fight another day. Kill more of my kind. No, it ends tonight,” Jack said with a wave of his free hand. “One dies, but hundreds live.”

“Guys,” Castiel said with a bit more impatience.

“Cas, not now!” Dean said.

Castiel sighed and then turned to Sherlock and John. “You may want to cover your eyes.” The pair did as Castiel said. There was a brilliant light, brighter than any light that John had ever seen. Even with his eyes closed he penetrated through. He pulled up a hand to shade his eyes even further.

There was a slicing sound and a gutteral noise. Then the light faded.  
The Winchesters, Sherlock and John all removed their hands from their eyes. No one spoke for a couple minutes as they adjusted back to the darkness.

“What. The Hell. Was That,” John said.

“Angel. I was trying to tell them,” Cas said simply as he put his angel blade somewhere in the recesses of his trench coat. “No one ever listens.”

They looked at the ground by Castiel’s feet. There was the decapitated body of Jack Grayston.

The car ride back to the hotel was quiet. A looming silence stretched on for about twenty minutes until John leaned forward, gripping the back of Sam’s seat. “No, seriously. What the hell was that?”

Dean gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter and looked at Sam. “Look, we’d better talk about this over some pie.”

* * *

 And so the conversation ended where it began, some dirty cafe in the middle of town. Sam and Dean told Sherlock and John everything. They told them about the fire, their mother, Sam’s unusual birth, and how they started being hunters. They told them about the crazy monsters and even crazier people they’d met. Sherlock and John listened with the kind of rapt attention that the boys had seen a hundred times over from the people who had recently learned of the existence of the supernatural.

“It’s not possible,” John said when the boys had finished.

“Oh it is,” Castiel said through a mouthful of cherry pie.

“You can’t believe this, can you Sherlock?” John said. “In that rational brain of yours? I mean, there was no hound. This may have been another drugged out episode we were having.”

“Think about it, John. The dead missing blood, but no obvious signs of blood being spilled. Castiel’s light show? Once you’ve eliminated…”

“Oh no, don’t quote your pithy sayings at me. You can’t make me believe there’s real vampires and werewolves and… cupid babies.”

“That guys,” Sam said moving uncomfortably in his chair.

“You’re all crazy.” John shook his head. “I’ll be in the car.”

There was a long silence again. “You’ll have to forgive, John. He gets rather emotional. I, of course believe you.” Sherlock leaned forward on the table. “You’ll have to keep me updated with your work. I think it may clear up at least twenty cases in the metropolitan London that have been in my cold case files.”

Sam nodded. “I have your website, I can send you any information as we get it.”

“I, in turn, can do the same for you of course, should you come across any problem that needs my particular brain power.” He licked his lips and noticed the expressions on the boys’ faces. “Oh come now, you know you’re not exactly geniuses. I can also help with your fake IDs, a child could spot them.” Sherlock looked down at the blueberry pie in front of Dean. “Are you going to eat that?”

Dean looked at the pie and then at Sherlock and passed it over. Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow.”

Sherlock munched happily away, oblivious to Sam’s reaction. “Now, about these vampires. Tell me more...”


End file.
